Change
by Petrichora
Summary: Daryl, blaming himself for Beth's abduction, battles old demons and new enemies in his quest to find her. Beth, alone for the first time, must find an inner strength she isn't sure she has in order to survive. Meanwhile, a haunted Carol and a wary Tyreese continue toward Terminus. Will any of them find the redemption they seek? If so, at what cost? A very slow-burning Daryl/Beth.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters

**Note**: This will be Daryl/Beth, but a very slow-burning one, so if you're wanting instant gratification of the "Chapter 1: The Unexpected Kiss, Chapter 2: The Horizontal Tango" variety, you'd best check elsewhere, as you won't find it here.

**Chapter 1: Alone**

"_I wish I could just…change."_

"_You did."_

"_Not enough. Not like you. It's like you were made for how things are now."_

"_I'm just used to this, things bein' ugly, growin' up in a place like this."_

"_But you got away from it."_

"_I didn't."_

"_You did."_

"_Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes."_

"_No. You can't depend on anybody for anythin', right?"_

…

"_I'll be gone someday…"_

"_Stop."_

"_I will…You're gonna be the last man standin'."_

…

"_You are…You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."_

"_You ain't a happy drunk at all."_

"_Yeah, I'm happy: I'm just not blind."_

…

"_You gotta stay who you are. Not who you were. Places like this…you have to put it away."_

"_What if you can't?"_

"_You have to. Or it kills you…here."_

-Beth and Daryl, "Still"

* * *

The soft, almost imperceptible fluttering sound caused him to look up sharply, his hand instinctively clutching tighter at his hunting knife. It only took him a millisecond to hone in on the noise's cause: a bird, its orange chest and brown back revealing it to be a robin, had landed in the grass about twenty feet away. It hopped around lightly, scratching and pecking at the ground for a few seconds before taking flight once again. Daryl followed it with his gaze until it was out of sight, then turned his attention back to his work.

He was sitting cross-legged on the porch just outside the front door, his back against the wall and his loaded crossbow next to him, using his knife to drill holes into a series of flattened aluminum cans. Every other entrance to the house-funeral parlor had been boarded up or otherwise secured: all that remained was the front door.

He set down the knife and reached for his pack, rummaging roughly through its contents until he found what he was looking for: a small bundle of brown twine. One by one, he picked up the cans and fed the twine through the holes.

_Like a goddamn trailer park Christmas decoration_, he thought wryly, curling his index finger against his thumb and releasing it to give one of the dangling cans an experimental flick. It clanked noisily against its neighbor, causing Daryl to grunt in approval.

He sheathed his knife, wound the twined cans into a loose loop around his left forearm, and stood, slinging his crossbow over his right shoulder as he walked forward to the edge of the porch. Keeping his ears trained on his surroundings, Daryl worked quickly to tie one end of the twine around the end of the waist-high wooden railing that ran along much of the porch, walking sideways to trail the remaining length across the porch entrance. While a piece of twine with some rusted old cans was not nearly as secure as a twenty-foot chain length fence, any walker would be hard pressed to get past it quietly, and at this point, that was all he and Beth could hope for.

_Beth_.

The thought of her name caused Daryl to scowl slightly as he continued to unravel the twine. When he'd told her in the kitchen earlier that they'd only take what they needed of the food they'd found and leave the rest for whoever had put it there, she'd smiled and called him a good person. A good person. Daryl couldn't help but scoff at the idea as he secured the other end of the twine, pulling it almost taut so that it would sit just below waist-level when hanging.

He knew better, even if she didn't. He wasn't a good person, not by a long shot: the devil only knew how many regrets he had about the decisions he'd made over the years, the most recent of which was getting drunk on moonshine and dragging Beth out to shoot at a walker for sport. Anyone else would have turned tail and left him to rot, but for some reason, for some insane reason, Beth had done the exact opposite. Not only had she forgiven him, she had _comforted_ him while he lost his shit, and less than twenty-four hours later she had looked at him with the most sincere look he had ever seen on anybody and called him a good person…

Daryl swallowed, shaking his head. Rick had been good. So had Hershel, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne. That was the problem: good people just didn't seem to survive anymore. Not when more often than not survival seemed to come down to how many bullets were in your gun and how fast you were at pulling the trigger.

_'Course, bullets're pretty fuckin' useless when the other guy shows up with a tank_, he thought bitterly, swearing that if by some exceedingly unlikely chance the Governor had survived and crossed his path again someday, he would put every last one of his arrows through the man's goddamn skull, rip them out, and repeat until the arrows splintered or he could no longer lift his crossbow. Then he'd use his knife…

Sucking in a hissing breath, Daryl clenched his hands into fists and, with no small amount of difficulty, pulled himself out of his murderous thoughts. He needed to get back inside, or else Beth might start to wonder what was taking him so long and come out looking for him. He'd vowed to himself last night that he would never blow up at her the way he had yesterday afternoon and was fully prepared to never touch another drop of alcohol as long as he lived if that was what it took, but he didn't want to take any chances that his lingering anger toward the Governor would get taken out on the same wrong person twice in two days.

Stepping carefully over the twine, he crossed over to the front door and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the dimly lit hall, he was surprised to see a golden, softly flickering light spilling out from a doorway on the left, the room with chairs and a casket, if he remembered correctly from his earlier sweep of the house. No sooner had he taken a step toward it than he heard the sound of a piano being played, accompanied shortly by Beth's quiet voice.

He walked silently over to the doorway and peered inside. The room was lit with candles, the source of the light he'd seen from the front door. Beth was seated at the piano with her back to him, her slender shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm as she played.

The unexpected serenity of the scene was disarming. Daryl couldn't help but feel as though he'd stumbled across something he hadn't been meant to see, a sweet, private moment not intended for people like him. He hesitated, wondering if he should leave and find something to occupy himself with in another part of the house, but while his mind said flight, his legs seemed determined to fight, refusing to carry him away.

Cautiously, like an animal wary of its surroundings, Daryl reached up to adjust his crossbow and leaned against the wall just outside the doorframe. The soft glow of the candlelight caressed his still figure in golden temptation, welcoming him to take a step forward and cross the threshold into the room, but just as Daryl found himself unable to walk away, he was unwilling to enter. Experience had taught him numerous times that if something looked inviting, it should be treated with double the suspicion. It was a harsh rule, but it was one that had kept him alive in circumstances where he otherwise would have perished. Hell, in this world, it was akin to common sense: only fools or those with a death wish rushed into something that was clearly too good to be true. It was one of the few things he believed in anymore.

And yet…and yet he still couldn't bring himself to leave. He told himself that he had no business being there, that this moment was not his to enjoy, but the longer he stood there, the more tired he felt. It was a weariness that went far beyond bodily fatigue: he was tired of never being able to have even a single goddamn night where he didn't sleep with one eye open and his crossbow within reach. He was tired of thinking about the events of the last few days and all the things he wish he'd done differently, tired of the mental anguish brought on by an incessant barrage of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

And as he leaned against the wall on the edge of the light and listened to Beth's impossibly soothing voice, he realized he was tired of feeling that way.

* * *

_A piano. There's a piano._

Beth felt her breath catch in her throat as the thought registered. Without thinking, she took a step forward into the dim room, only to nearly topple over in a gasp of pain as she came down too hard on her injured ankle. Her right hand shot out reflexively to grasp the doorframe, steadying her and keeping her upright, as she mentally cursed her foolishness.

_A fine sight you'd be_, she scolded herself, _sprawled out unconscious on the floor from hitting your head during a fall!_ She could only imagine the look of didn't-I-say-be-careful exasperation that would be on Daryl's face if he found her in such a position.

It was bad enough he hadn't let her help set secure the perimeter. While Beth's logical side told her that she wouldn't be much help limping around and that Daryl could get the job done faster without her, her prideful side rankled at being told to stay inside. Determined to show that she wasn't completely useless, she'd taken inventory of their supplies, cleaned and sharpened her knife, and had been in the process of lighting the candles she'd found in a few of the downstairs rooms when she had come across the piano. Carefully, this time mindful of her ankle, she released her grip on the door frame and hobbled into the room.

If the presence of the piano and the rows of chairs hadn't been enough of a clue as to the room's purpose, the ornate casket left no doubt. Beth moved to stand in front of it, reaching out to run a hand over its smooth mahogany frame and fighting the sadness she felt growing within her.

The fact that she hadn't been able to bury her father and the knowledge that he had most likely become a walker tormented her like a knife in the stomach, one that twisted painfully each time she thought about it. Her father hadn't deserved to die the way he had, murdered by some hateful excuse for a man while she and Maggie had watched in horror. She felt tears sting her eyes at the memory and reached up angrily to dash them away. Not for the first time since fleeing the prison, she was overcome with the desire to curl up into a ball and cry, but instead she swallowed the lump in her throat, took a deep, steadying breath, and moved to light the candles in the silver candelabra at the foot-end of the casket.

_We don't get to do that_, she told herself, remembering her father's oft-repeated words. _We don't get to feel sorry for ourselves. We've all got jobs to do. Right now, your job is to survive_.

She continued to move about the room and lit every candle she could find, the warm glow of the candles rendering the walls a soft shade of gold. Their light had a calming effect on the girl, lifting her spirit and pacifying her mind. It was as though she were creating a small, safe space in a world otherwise bereft of sanctuary, and as she finished, Beth felt better than she had all day.

Her task complete, she walked carefully over to the piano, the initial reason she'd been drawn to the room, and slid onto the bench. Hesitantly, almost reverently, she raised her hands above the keys, pausing for a moment before slowly bringing them down. A small smile tugged at her lips as the note rose and lingered in the air; it widened as she played a simple scale and blossomed into a grin as she continued onto a series of slightly more complicated chords, her soft, clear voice rising from her chest in a low hum. She played through a final chord before pausing to take a break, eyes bright with contentment.

It had been ages since she'd been able to play, and she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed it. Her mother had taught her when she was a little girl, and after everything except the dead had gone to hell, playing the old piano in her family's parlor while she and Maggie sang for their father had felt like one of the few connections she still had to her life before. Now, with her father dead and Maggie and Glenn's fates unknown, it might just have been the only one left.

Unwilling to let her sadness get the better of her again, Beth returned her hands to the keys, playing a series of soft notes and beginning to sing quietly the first song that came to mind. It was a song she'd sung often before everything had fallen apart, and although she'd long since forgotten the artist's name, the lyrics came to her readily as she slowed the song's tempo to suit her liking.

"It's unclear now, what we intend,

We're alone in our own world.

You don't wanna be my boyfriend,

and I don't wanna be your girl…"

Beth smiled, enjoying the feeling of playing and singing. She closed her eyes, her voice rising slightly as she allowed herself to melt easily into the song.

"And that, that's a relief.

We'll drink up our grief.

And pine for summer.

And we'll buy

a beer to shotgun,

and we'll lay in the lawn,

and we'll be good…"

"Ahem..."

The sound startled her. Whirling around, she saw Daryl looking back at her from just outside the doorway. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment: she hadn't expected an audience.

For his part, Daryl seemed equally uncomfortable, as though he regretted attracting her attention. He dropped his gaze, hesitating for a moment before stepping slowly into the room.

"Place's nailed up tight," he muttered, jerking his right thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the front door. He raised his shoulder slightly to adjust the crossbow resting against it before shrugging it off and depositing the weapon onto the sofa against the wall. "Only way in's through the front door."

Beth nodded in acknowledgement, hoping to God that Daryl hadn't been standing there for long. She knew he wasn't overly fond of her singing, and the last thing she needed was to hear was how annoying and childish she was acting.

Much to Beth's surprise, however, no such remark was made. Instead, Daryl strode slowly from the sofa to the casket at the front of the parlor; after a quick, appraising glance, he hoisted himself up to sit in it with a quiet grunt, his legs hanging out over the side.

The action caught Beth off guard. "What are you doin'?" she asked, forgetting her embarrassment.

Daryl settled back a bit, swinging his legs up over the side to lie down with what looked like the ghost of a smile. "This is the comfiest bed I've had in years."

Beth scoffed. "Really?"

"I ain't kiddin'," returned Daryl, his tone sincere as he settled back against the casket's pillows with a sigh.

Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head. Certainly the casket would be softer than the forest floor or the trunk of a car, but _years_? Then, with a pang, she remembered her and Daryl's brief stay at the still in the woods, and his remark that he'd known what the place was because he'd grown up in a similar home. Beth frowned. Maybe he really _hadn't_ had a comfortable place to sleep in years.

The thought made her sad, and she was about to apologize for her scoff when Daryl's gruff voice spoke first. "'Chyou go ahead…'n play some more," he said, shifting in his casket-bed so that he was looking over at her. "Keep singing."

Beth blinked, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. "I thought my singing annoyed you."

"Hm," Daryl grunted, shifting again to adjust his arm. His gaze flickered away for a moment before returning to her. "There ain't no jukebox, so…"

He trailed off, looking at her in silent appeal, and Beth realized that he really did seem to want her to continue. With a timid smile, she turned back around to face the piano and resumed playing, picking up a few verses before the point where she'd left off.

"And we'll buy

a beer to shotgun,

and we'll lay in the lawn,

and we'll be good.

Now I'm laughing at my boredom,

'n my string of failed attempts,

because you think that it's important,

and I welcome the sentiment…"

Still singing, Beth chanced a glance over at Daryl and saw that he had shifted his gaze from her to the ceiling, his right hand reaching up absently to rest against his forehead. She watched as his eyes closed, his raised arm drifting to rest against the open lid of the casket. Smiling, she turned her focus back to the piano, making an extra effort to make her voice sound calm and soothing.

"And we talk on the phone at night,

until it's daylight,

and I feel clever,

and I hear the slow in your speech.

Yeah, you're half asleep,

say goodnight.

Now I've got friendships to mend,

I'm selfishly dispossessed.

You don't wanna be my boyfriend,

And that's probably for the best.

Because that, that gets messy.

And you will hurt me.

Or I'll disappear…"

She trailed off, the final piano notes fading softly into the candles' golden glow. The scarcely audible sound of Daryl's slow, even breathing told her that he'd fallen asleep, a fact that Beth was glad to have helped bring about: goodness knew the man needed a rest after the limited amount of sleep he'd gotten over the last several days. In fact, Beth realized with a frown, now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember having seen him sleep _at all_: the few times she'd managed to close her eyes for a few hours, Daryl's silent form hunched near the fire and peering warily into the darkness, crossbow in hand, had been the last thing she'd before drifting off and the first thing she'd seen upon waking up.

Now, as she sat at the piano watching him sleep, a mixture of guilt and gratitude washed over her. _Sleep, Daryl_, she thought, smiling softly as the man shifted slightly without waking. _It's my turn to keep watch._

The sofa across the room caught her eye. In addition to looking very comfortable-_Comfiest bed I've had in days_, she thought wryly, partially echoing Daryl's words-its location against the wall next to the door would mean that she would hear anyone coming before they'd see her, making it the perfect place to curl up and rest while guarding them both. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Beth stood and crept across the room. She lowered herself carefully onto the sofa, twisting at the waist to lift the crossbow out of the way and folding her legs beside her in its place. With a final look over at Daryl to make sure the movement hadn't disturbed him, she settled back against sofa to begin her watch, the crossbow clutched protectively in her arms.

* * *

The dialogue in the second part of this chapter was directly lifted from "Alone." Beth's song, parts of which appeared in "Alone" and more of which has been included here, is "Be Good" by Waxahatchee (I think we can all pardon Beth for not being able to remember the artist's name).

If you enjoyed this chapter, and/or if you have suggestions for improvement, please do drop a review: they're the only reward this overworked grad student gets. I would really, really appreciate anyone telling me what they feel works well as well as what needs improvement. I love and respect these characters, and while it is my goal to keep everyone in-character, if you ever see someone drifting into the realm of OOC, **_please_ **let me know so that I can fix it immediately.


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